The Hunted. Kerry Barnes

laid gravel drive, he sucked in the warm air and braced himself.

      Sacha, the housekeeper, opened the door before he had a chance to put the key in the lock. Her sweet round face was loaded with anxiety. It made Mike bite down on his lip and flare his nostrils. ‘Go on, love, tell me. What the fuck has she been up to now?’

      Sacha lowered her gaze and shook her head. ‘Sorry, Mr Regan, but I just can’t do it anymore. I am handing in my notice … I can’t, I just can’t.’ Her voice cracked, as she tried to hold back the tears. Mike held out his big meaty arms for his housekeeper to fall into. He’d known she wouldn’t stay in the job for much longer. Sacha was too sweet and inoffensive. Dealing with Jackie was just too much for her.

      He held her tight and stroked her long black hair. ‘Come on, love. Don’t get yaself upset. It’s okay. I understand.’

      She gently pulled away. ‘I’m so worried about little Ricky, he is so … well, affected. Yes, maybe that’s the word. I will come back tomorrow, Mr Regan, to take him to school, but after that, I have to leave. She’s too …’ Sacha looked into Mike’s compassionate grey eyes and gave a smile loaded with sorrow. ‘She’s just hard work.’

      Mike heard the cab driving up towards the house. He nodded and winked for her to go. He would deal with the aftermath.

      As Sacha bustled herself into the taxi, she looked back to see Mike disappear inside the house of misery. Gutted she had to leave, she knew, nevertheless, that Jackie was becoming utterly out of control. The last straw was when she took a slap from her, for ushering little Ricky away before Jackie could say another cruel thing to him. Sacha would have loved to have swapped places with Jackie. Mike was perfect in her eyes, a Gerard Butler lookalike, rich and generous too. However, he was also faithful to his wife.

      Mike stepped inside, gently closing the door, hoping that Jackie was crashed out somewhere. The house was quiet, so he crept up the curved staircase and walked along the corridor and into Ricky’s room. He gulped back the lump that had lodged in his throat. There, asleep, still hugging a pillow, was his little six-year-old son. The curtains were drawn, and his night light was just bright enough to show that his face was still moist from crying. There, among the child’s dreams, he witnessed another sob. Mike’s heart ached for his son – his sweet little chubby boy, with the biggest eyes, button nose, and wayward floppy fringe. He wanted to pull him into his arms and hug him tight, but he didn’t want to wake him. Quietly, he closed the door and walked back down the stairs and into the lounge. His shoulders relaxed when he realized he was alone. Loosening his tie, he went to the bar and poured a brandy, slowly allowing the bitter bite to warm the back of his throat. He held the bottle in his hand and rolled his eyes. Thank God she didn’t like brandy, or his vintage collection would be consumed by now. Jackie was content with a litre of vodka each day and didn’t care if it was called Grey Goose or Mother Goose, as long as it got her pissed.

      Mike took his weighty crystal tumbler, with a double shot of brandy, out through the French doors and onto the patio, where the garden lights automatically came on and flooded the pool area.

      With Sacha handing in her notice, and the concerning call he’d received earlier regarding his arms import, he really needed to think about what to do, now that both work and home were a mess. He shuddered and gulped back the drink. If it was true, and his deal had been intercepted by the government agents, he was looking at going down for a long time. Christ, what would happen to Ricky? He had to keep his head straight. First thing tomorrow, he would call a meeting at which only his trusted men would be present. He stared as far as his eyes could see and surveyed the walled perimeter. For a second, he thought he saw something glimmer, and his heart stopped beating. I am getting fucking paranoid now. He had to get some sleep; the last few days had been intense, and he needed a clear head for the morning.

      As he went back into the house and upstairs, the inebriated snoring from their bedroom made him pass by silently, hoping his wife wouldn’t wake up. The last room on the left, the blue room, was cool and inviting. He removed his clothes and slid between the sheets, allowing the fresh cotton to engulf him. Just as he was about to drift off, a loud bang woke him and rattled his nerves. There she was in the doorway.

      ‘Where have you been, ya fucking wanker!’ spat Jackie, full of piss and vinegar.

      Mike sat up and rolled his eyes; she was off on one again. For a second, he stared and wondered why the fuck he was still with her. Half-dressed in a designer blouse and just her knickers, she looked like a streetwalker. Her hair was a mess with knotted extensions and her oversized, collagen-filled lips were twisted in an ugly fashion to match her tight, beady eyes. Botox, boob jobs, and a fake tan had done her no favours. She was only twenty-six and could have passed for eighteen a couple of years ago. Why she’d had to have all that shit done was beyond him. He didn’t recognize her anymore, but that wasn’t the issue. It was her wild personality that had truly changed beyond recognition.

      ‘Well, where ’ave ya been?’ she demanded, standing there swaying with her hands on her hips. Even the sleep hadn’t sobered her up.

      ‘Fuck off, Jackie, and leave me alone, will ya!’

      ‘You don’t know what it’s like for me to be stuck in this place all fucking day with that brat whining!’

      Mike felt his blood rushing through his veins. If she’d been a man, he would have leaped from the bed and smashed her head straight through the window. He clenched his fists and flared his nostrils.

      ‘Leave it, Jackie, and go back to bed,’ he said calmly.

      Jackie wanted a row; she needed to vent her anger, but he wasn’t having any of it.

      ‘Oh, that’s it, Mike. You just bury ya fucking head in the sand … Look at ya. Think ya better than me, acting like I don’t even fucking exist.’ With her face screwed up, she egged him on, eager for a fight. Anything to get his attention – any attention.

      ‘I’m warning you, Jackie. Go back to bed, or I’ll forget you’re a fucking woman.’

      His deep raspy voice would have turned her on a few years ago but not anymore. She hated him – she hated everyone. Now she saw a change in his expression; it was a coldness that crept across his face. She hadn’t seen him like that before and thought perhaps she’d pushed him too far, but the drink fuelled her on and she lashed back again. ‘Oh yeah, fucking hardman. Well, you lay a fucking finger on me and you just watch. You’ll be seeing that kid of yours from behind bars, and only if I fucking say so. I have so much on you, Mike, that you’ll go down for a long time.’

      That was the last straw. The thought that she could grass, and even worse have control over their son, incensed him, taking him to a pitch that would see the red mist come down. In one fluid movement, he leaped from the bed and lunged towards her, grabbing her by the hair and throwing her to the floor.

      Her cheek caught the corner of the bedside cabinet, causing her to let out a dramatic scream.

      Sucking in a deep lungful of air, he slowly calmed down and glared at his wife, who was squirming around on the floor.

      ‘You bastard!’ she yelled with a wilful jeer.

      He sighed with relief that he hadn’t killed her. But when he clocked her malevolent expression, he wished he had. No woman had ever pushed him as far. Wife or not, no one would make threats concerning his son. Yet hitting her went against everything he stood for. Things would have to change.

      He had only been with Jackie for seven years, having met her at his twenty-seventh birthday bash. She was stunning back then, a natural beauty. Her confidence was what had attracted him to her. The party was a big affair with friends and wannabe mates all trying to buddy up to him. He had money and a reputation, but he wasn’t stupid; he kept only a handful of close friends who were his business colleagues.

      Then Jackie arrived with his brother’s girlfriend. Tall and slim, with blonde waves tumbling down her back and shrouded in assurance, she swanned over to him and gave him a birthday kiss. He remembered the sweet smell of some expensive perfume, and how he’d decided to engage in